


Hold Me Down

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn moves ever so slightly, and Poe’s mouth goes slack, his eyes dipping shut. He moans Finn’s name in a way he’s never moaned Finn’s name before, quiet and pleading. He’s clenching down around Finn, head thrown back into the pillow, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and Finn realizes, with sudden clarity, <i>He wants me to fucking wreck him.</i><br/><br/>It’s a bewildering thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> In which Finn tries to figure out the extent to which he’s comfortable accommodating Poe’s sexual preferences.

It’s not a complete shock for Finn when he figures it out. There had been some clues he’d picked up on; a few minor incidents he’d initially misinterpreted, but that make so much sense now that he’s got the full picture.

First, there was the hair pulling incident.

Poe had just spent several days off-planet. He’d probably been wearing his flight helmet for about a week straight, and he hadn’t showered yet, at Finn’s request. (“I can’t believe that turns you on,” Poe always says, no matter how often Finn reminds him of the biochemistry of attraction.) As Poe sunk into him, Finn shoved his hands into Poe’s hair to align their mouths. He didn’t notice his fingers caught in a tangle, and he accidentally yanked on it, hard enough for the strands to bite into his skin.

Finn said, “Ow,” at the same time as Poe inhaled sharply and went completely rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, hastily pressing a kiss to the side of Poe’s face. “I didn’t mean to—your hair’s really tangled. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine,” Poe said. His voice seemed hoarser than before. “I’m fine.”

He still wasn’t moving, though.

“You sure?” Finn asked.

“Yeah,” Poe said, pushing himself up on his hand. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. He scratched at his stubble next. “Just, uh. I just came.”

“Oh,” Finn said, surprised. And then, grinning, “Missed me that much, huh?”

Which, in retrospect, was a pretty naive conclusion to draw.

 

Not long after that, Finn was helping Poe with some minor repairs on Black One, and Poe was teasing him, or he was teasing Poe; he can’t remember. The part that matters is they ended up flush against each other, Poe running his hands up Finn’s sides under his shirt and breathing a laugh against the side of his neck, and it tickled so badly that Finn made an involuntary movement and accidentally hit Poe in the face.

And not gently, either. It was a full-on backhanded slap that had Poe’s head jerking back and his teeth audibly clicking together.

“ _Poe_ ,” Finn said, horrified, his heart rate spiking—but before he could start apologizing in every way he knew how, Poe was already kissing him passionately. Finn only managed to get in a single “’msosorry,” before both of Poe’s hands were down his pants and Poe was dropping to his knees.

It’s the third time something like this happens that Finn connects the dots.

He’s fucking Poe. This is something they haven’t done very often yet, something Finn has never done with anyone other than Poe. Poe is always very patient and talkative, guiding Finn through the process, telling him how and when and keeping up a stream of encouragements like “A little harder, yeah, that’s it,” or “Like that, like that, oh, _fuck_ , just like that.”

But it’s been a while since the last time they had sex, because life in the Resistance is just as taxing and nowhere near as routine as life in the First Order. The past two weeks or so, they’ve been either simply not in the same bed at the same time or too exhausted to do anything more than make out and fondle each other for a bit before nodding off.

This morning they _are_ in the same bed at the same time, and Poe is talking Finn through fucking him in a lazy, sleep-rough voice, his eyes still half closed, and he feels so good and tight around Finn’s fingers, and Finn is still half asleep and Poe feels so good and tight around the head of his dick and Finn just zones out for a second.

Before he knows it he has thrust into Poe, is buried deep inside him, and even as he feels Poe’s body accommodate him Finn is aware that this must’ve _hurt_. There’s no way Poe was ready. Fuck, Finn hadn’t even taken all that much time to finger Poe open, what if—

Under him, Poe is panting, eyes glazed over. He’s breathing twice as fast as he was just a few seconds ago. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip. He couldn’t look less in pain.

He looks blissful.

Finn moves ever so slightly, and Poe’s mouth goes slack, his eyes dipping shut. He moans Finn’s name in a way he’s never moaned Finn’s name before, quiet and pleading. He’s clenching down around Finn, head thrown back into the pillow, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and Finn realizes, with sudden clarity, _He wants me to fucking wreck him._

It’s a bewildering thought.

“Hey,” Finn says afterward, when he’s disposed of the condom and gotten back into bed. Poe has rolled over and settled with his arm around Finn’s waist and his head on Finn’s chest. They don’t often get the luxury of staying in bed for a while, and Finn wants to treasure this rare moment, he does, but he feels like he has to ask.

Poe hums.

Finn has no idea how to go about this. He could apologize, ask Poe if he’s okay, but over the past few months he’s learned that Poe’s answer to that question is invariably ‘I’m fine’, regardless of the situation. Poe always claims to be fine no matter the amount of blood he’s losing or the number of enemy combatants he’s facing. And besides, Finn is pretty sure he already knows the answer to that question. Poe _is_ fine. It’s not the question Finn has to ask.

“Earlier,” Finn says, “when I…”

Poe shifts, tilting his head back until they’re able to look at each other. He’s still sleepy-eyed, his hair a mess, and Finn just wants to press their foreheads together and kiss him and stay like this for hours.

“You get off on—pain,” Finn says. It’s supposed to be a question, but it doesn’t sound like one. It sounds like a statement. He adds, “Don’t you?” and touches the curls at the back of Poe’s head.

Poe nods somewhat warily. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess. Yeah.” His expression is guarded.

Finn says, “Why…”

 _Why didn’t you tell me_ , he wants to ask, but he can’t come up with a non-accusatory way to phrase it.

Poe pushes himself up a little, resting his head on his hand. Finn’s chest feels weird without the weight of Poe’s head on it, but then Poe’s other hand starts stroking back and forth across his stomach, which makes him feel better.

“’Cause I didn’t think it was something you’d be into,” Poe says in response to the question Finn didn’t ask.

“It’s something _you’re_ into, though,” Finn says.

Poe shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not the only thing. There are other things. We’ve done plenty of them.”

But that look of pure bliss on Poe’s face, that’s a look Finn hasn’t seen on him often, if ever. And now that he knows, it all makes sense. The heat with which Poe had kissed him after that backhanded slap. The fact that Poe had come the instant Finn had pulled his hair.

Poe really, really, _really_ gets off on this kind of stuff.

“Yeah, sure, but,” Finn says, hoping that Poe will understand.

Poe does. “Would you want to hurt me?” he asks evenly.

 _No_ , Finn thinks. He loves Poe. He can’t imagine wanting to hurt Poe, or anyone he loves, really.

“I want,” he says, “to do things that make you happy.”

Poe ducks his head, touches his lips to Finn’s shoulder. Says, “You make me happy. I love how good you are. I love you. I wouldn’t want to ask this of you. It’s not a big deal, just forget about it, okay?”

 _You shouldn’t have to ask_ , Finn thinks.

“You didn’t ask,” he says, sliding his fingers into Poe’s hair. Slowly, intentionally, tightening his grip.

Poe’s breath catches.

“Finn,” he says, in a low voice. “I mean it. You don’t have to.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask,” Finn says, dragging Poe up by his hair, swallowing his moan, and he can practically taste the desperation on Poe’s tongue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He starts with little things. (“I like everything,” Poe says evasively when Finn presses him for details. “I don’t care. Just try whatever you feel comfortable with.”)

Finn has always loved Poe’s hair. The way it looks, the way it feels under his hands. He likes to comb his fingers through it after sex, so it’s no hardship to pay it a little more attention during sex, to tug at it and watch Poe’s eyelids flutter. He usually keeps his hands on the curves of Poe’s shoulders while Poe blows him, and now instead of doing that he makes sure to cup Poe’s head and let his fingertips dig into Poe’s scalp as he gets closer to orgasm.

“You can hold down my head and thrust if you want,” Poe says one day before wrapping his lips around the tip of Finn’s dick, and Finn nods and does that too. He almost comes on the spot at the feeling of Poe’s throat constricting around him, the vibrations of Poe’s moans sending shocks of pleasure through him.

He reminds himself to rake his nails down Poe’s back when Poe is on top of him. When he fucks Poe, he tries to make his thrusts sharper and harder than he used to. He also watches holovids for inspiration, and the next time they’ve both got a spare hour at lunchtime he surprises Poe by dragging him along to their room and bending him over the desk and taking him from behind.

Finn had felt pretty confident that Poe would like it, but he seems to like it even more than Finn had anticipated. He actually seems to like it so much he’s a little out of it for a while afterward. He comes soundlessly, without even shuddering under Finn’s hands, and when Finn pushes off of him Poe just sort of slumps against the desk and stays there. He’s still like that—shirt rucked up around his back, pants pooled around his ankles, the backs of his thighs shiny with lube and come—when Finn returns with a washcloth.

Finn carefully cleans him up and straightens out his clothes. “You all right?” he asks, touching the nape of Poe’s neck.

Poe nods, cheek rubbing against the wood of the desk. He makes a hand gesture that means _Just give me a second_.

It’s the middle of the day. They’ve got things to do. Finn catches Poe’s hand and threads their fingers together, gently pulling. Poe follows him without asking him what he’s doing. Finn sits down on the bed, cross-legged, and motions for Poe to join him. It’s almost unnerving, the way Poe immediately and wordlessly obeys by lying down with his head on Finn’s thigh.

Finn is about to ask Poe if he’s really all right when Poe sighs deeply and slings his arm around Finn’s waist, mumbling, “That was amazing, Finn, thank you.”

His head is heavy in Finn’s lap. His face is relaxed; his eyes are closed. Finn brushes Poe’s stubble-rough cheek with the back of his finger and decides that the things they’ve got to do will just have to wait for a while.

 

There are things Finn loves about it.

There are a lot of things he loves about it, actually, which surprises him. He loves the soft, fond look Poe gives him whenever he tries something new. He loves watching the various expressions dart across Poe’s face, and he loves that when Poe catches him watching Poe smiles at him, brilliantly. He loves feeling Poe melt under his touch.

Most of all, he loves the way it renders Poe quiet and pliant, content to let Finn rearrange him and caress him and hold him. Poe is always on the go, never seems to settle down entirely, but the more Finn pushes him during sex (well, the more Finn pushes himself, really—he can’t imagine the things he initiates are things Poe has never done before) the calmer Poe gets afterward.

And the more Finn pushes, the more Poe _wants_ him to push, it seems. He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in his eyes, in his eager reactions. When Finn tugs at his hair, Poe’s breath trembles; when Finn lets his fingertips dig into Poe’s scalp, Poe’s warm hands flex against the insides of his thighs, urging him on; when Finn holds Poe down and thrusts into his mouth, Poe continues to take him as deep as he can even after Finn stops applying pressure. When Finn rakes his nails down Poe’s back, Poe arches up into his touch, chasing it, and when Finn makes his thrusts sharp and hard Poe goes silent and still, like he’s afraid Finn might stop or slow down if Poe draws attention to himself in any way.

It’s—

It’s sexy. It’s very sexy.

Finn thinks it’s almost a little scary how sexy this is to him, even though Rey keeps saying she doesn’t think it is.

 

“What do you like so much about it?” he impulsively asks Poe one evening, immediately realizing that this is probably one of the worst moments to start this conversation. It’s late, he’s tired, and Poe was completely wiped out even before Finn pinned him to the bed and jerked them both off. In fact, he might have fallen asleep already.

Finn glances over to where Poe is curled up on his side, head pillowed on his hands. He’s breathing softly, his lips parted. Just when Finn reaches for the light switch, having concluded that Poe is asleep, Poe blinks up at him and yawns. “’Bout what?” he says, rubbing at his eyes.

“This,” Finn says, vaguely waving a hand around. He doesn’t know what to call it. He doesn’t want to call it _rough sex_ , because he’s watched plenty of holovids by now, and nothing they’ve done gets anywhere near the kind of stuff he’s seen. It’s for the same reason that he doesn’t want to call it _pain_. As far as he’s aware he has never even left a mark on Poe’s skin that lingered for longer than a few minutes.

And besides, he’s pretty sure it’s not about pain at all, even though Poe hadn’t corrected him the first time they’d talked about it. It’s about something else. Relinquishing control, maybe. Which might also be the reason why Poe hasn’t told Finn what exactly he likes; Finn deciding everything is part of the appeal to him.

Understandably, Poe doesn’t get it. “Sex?” he says, uncertainly.

Finn snorts. “No. This kind of sex. Me holding you down, or pulling your hair, or whatever.”

“I dunno,” Poe says after a beat. He yawns again. “Guess I just like being here with you and not thinking about anything else.”

Finn waits, but when he looks over at Poe again Poe’s eyes are closed. Finn drinks in the sight of him—the shadow of stubble on his face, the lines around his eyes, the faint scar on his cheekbone. He figures it makes sense that this fighter pilot with rebel blood in his veins, who lives and breathes resistance and has spent most of his life soaring through space, needs something of weight to keep him where he is.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In some of the holovids, people get restrained with leather cuffs around their wrists and ankles. Sometimes they get tied spread-eagled to a bed; sometimes they’re in a standing position with their arms above their head, facing a wall, a bar keeping their feet apart. (“Kinky,” Rey says from where she’s got her chin perched on Finn’s shoulder. Finn agrees.) Sometimes they get gagged, or spanked. Sometimes they get restrained _and_ gagged _and_ spanked.

Handcuffs, even leather ones, are a definite no-go. Finn doesn’t know if Poe has a problem with them. He doesn’t ask. When he thinks about cuffs around Poe’s wrists, all he can picture is Poe wearily stumbling along to what he thought would be his execution. It doesn’t matter whether or not Poe has a problem with handcuffs; Finn does.

Finn remembers the way Poe had kissed him after being hit in the face. He finds a vid in which a man gets slapped around, called names, told he looked pretty on his knees. The man in the vid has the same blissful expression that Poe gets sometimes, when Finn does something he particularly enjoys.

And Finn wants to try, he does, wants to find out all of Poe’s favorite things. But when Poe is kneeling in front of him, mouthing at the underside of his dick, he just can’t bring himself to say it. “You’re so hot,” is the most he manages, and Poe’s grin makes him feel a little weak-kneed.

Slapping refuses to happen for much the same reason. Finn tries to make himself do it, keeps promising himself he’s going to do it, no, really, he’ll do it tonight—but he just. He just can’t find it in his heart to slap Poe in the face when Poe has just oh so gently kissed and stroked Finn to orgasm before attending to himself.

Instead, Finn grabs Poe by the jaw to pull him down and kiss him harshly. He doesn’t let go, forcing Poe to keep his head down and gasp into Finn’s ear until he comes between Finn’s slicked-up thighs.

“You’re too good to me,” Poe mumbles after he’s collapsed on top of Finn.

“You’re too heavy for me,” Finn says, poking him in the side. “I can’t breathe.”

“Suck it up, buddy,” Poe says.

 

Finn gets back at Poe by wrapping his hand around Poe’s throat the next time he’s fucking him.

Poe makes a startled, strangled noise. His back muscles tense up under the palm of Finn’s other hand. Finn immediately lets go, says, “Fuck, sorry, sorry.”

“No, that was,” Poe says roughly, “that’s good, that’s great, do it again, please, don’t—”

He sounds helpless, half crazed. “Finn,” he gasps as Finn cautiously curls his fingers around Poe’s throat again, “Finn,” and he’s arching his back, meeting Finn’s next thrust with a deep shudder. His Adam’s apple is bobbing up and down under Finn’s palm. One of his hands reaches around to clutch at Finn’s thigh.

Poe is still moaning Finn’s name in that helpless, half-crazed way. If he doesn’t stop Finn is going to come, and this will be over depressingly quickly.

Finn unthinkingly clasps his hand over Poe’s mouth instead.

Poe keens, his breath hot and wet against Finn’s palm. His fingers are digging almost painfully into the flesh of Finn’s thigh. When Finn uses his other hand to push Poe’s head down—something he saw in a holovid as well—Poe appears to cross the line from desperately turned on to completely fucking gone, judging by the noises he’s making and the way he goes boneless under Finn.

Afterward Poe is in that weirdly absent state of mind again, which means (Finn now knows) that Finn did well. It also means that Finn gets to fuss over him, which is nice. He cleans the sweat and come off of Poe’s skin and rubs Poe’s shoulders for a while. He stops when his hands start cramping up and nestles against Poe’s back, kissing the base of Poe’s neck and the skin behind his ear.

It’s really nice.

Poe is so quiet and still. “You okay?” Finn asks softly.

Poe hums, his hand coming to rest on Finn’s arm. “Love you,” he mumbles, which is actually a much more informative answer to that question than his usual _I’m fine_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Finn branches out from vids about rough sex to vids about edging (“Intense,” Rey says) and overstimulation (“Interesting”). It’s a heady thought, the thought of Poe coming apart as Finn brings him to the edge over and over again, and then over the edge several times, until he’s writhing and soaking in sweat and unable to form words. It’s a thought Finn can’t get out of his head.

In most of the vids handcuffs or other restraints are used, and Finn quickly understands why. Even someone as strong-willed as Poe, it seems, finds it difficult to keep himself under control in these circumstances.

“Hands by your sides,” Finn says for about the fifteenth time.

Poe is panting. A drop of sweat slides down from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. “I’m _trying_ ,” he says, wiping his forehead with his wrist.

Finn chokes back a laugh at the frustrated tone of his voice.

“Oh, really?” Poe says hotly. “You try. You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“Wanna bet?” Finn curls his hand loosely around the length of Poe’s dick again, stroking down. “I should’ve timed you,” he says. “We could’ve made a competition out of it.”

“Next time,” Poe says, hips stuttering up from the bed to chase Finn’s hand on the upstroke. Finn lets go of him, and Poe groans, reaches—

“Poe Dameron,” Finn says, grabbing Poe’s wrist and pushing it down to the mattress, “you are the absolute worst at following orders.”

“ _You_ want to accuse someone of being bad at following orders?”

Finn bends down to peck Poe’s chin. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry, I’m _dying_. You’re killing me over here.”

“You know you can tell me to stop whenever you want me to stop.”

“You know I don’t,” Poe says, squeezing his eyes shut when Finn thumbs the wet head of his dick, “want you to stop.”

“Then stop disobeying my orders.”

“They’re shitty orders. They’re impossible to obey. Why don’t you just tie me down? I’m sure we’ve got something lying around you could use.”

That… hadn’t even occurred to Finn. Handcuffs, no, but something like a belt or a strip of cloth? He’s clearly been overthinking this.

“Next time,” he says, cupping Poe’s balls. Poe’s wrist jerks against his hand. “Seriously? All right, new strategy. Hands above your head.”

“Don’t shoot,” Poe says as he puts his hands above his head. Finn rolls his eyes and gets back to it.

The new strategy works, for a while. Poe squirms and moans, but he doesn’t try to touch himself or reach for Finn. He’s got his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles going white when he comes for the first time.

It’s when he’s approaching his second orgasm that Poe’s resolve starts to crumble. First his hands fist into the pillow, which is still in line with Finn’s orders, but then Finn takes a break from sucking Poe’s dick to kiss him, and he feels one of Poe’s hands slide around his neck.

“Poe Dameron,” Finn says warningly, grabbing both of Poe’s wrists and pinning them above his head. Poe’s eyes are unfocused, he notices.

“Please,” Poe says. “Please.”

His arms surge up against Finn’s hands, and Finn instinctively loosens his grip. Poe breathlessly goes, “No, no, no, hold me down, please, I want—”

He’s lifting his head out of the pillow, his mouth seeking Finn’s. “Please,” he says again, “tighter, Finn, I want to feel it, want to feel you,” and Finn kisses him again, tightens his hands around Poe’s wrists, pushes down harder.

Poe gasps.

Finn grinds down against Poe, their hard dicks trapped between their stomachs, sliding together. Poe moans into Finn’s mouth. His body is quivering under Finn’s. The next sound he makes borders on a sob, and then he doesn’t stop gasping Finn’s name, doesn’t stop saying _please_ and _tighter_ and _hold me down_ and _Finn, Finn, please_.

It’s beautiful.

Poe continues to strain against Finn’s grip, and Finn continues to push him down until Poe finally stiffens and comes, eyes shut, mouth slack, side of his face pressed into the pillow. Finn squeezes harder, firmly holding Poe in place as he rides out his own orgasm.

“Buddy,” Poe says hoarsely after Finn has wiped their come away with the nearest piece of clothing—Poe’s underwear, he’s pretty sure—and turned off the lights, “I think that was some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He drops off right after that, dead to the world. Finn strokes his hands up and down Poe’s sweaty back and kisses his brow, whispers “I love you,” into his hair, holds him close in the dark.

 

The next morning, Finn wakes up before their alarm. Light is streaming in through the windows. Poe is still asleep, lying on his stomach with his face turned away from Finn. He’s got one arm shoved under his pillow and the other one flung out across the mattress.

Finn’s stomach turns over when he sees the bruise.

It’s not a small bruise. It’s not superficial either. It’s a deep shade of red, and it wraps all the way around Poe’s wrist, and Finn can’t look away from it.

He stares at it, heart beating in his throat, until the alarm goes off and Poe starts stirring next to him.

“Morning,” Poe mumbles, rolling over. He presses his lips to Finn’s chest. “Fresher?” He kisses Finn’s throat. “I could blow you.”

This is what Poe is like most mornings: a paradoxical mix of groggy and energetic, topped off with arousal. His hand is on Finn’s chest now. The bruise is right there. From this close, Finn can see the crescent marks of fingernails. Of his own fingernails. He can’t tear his eyes away.

He feels sick.

“No, you go ahead,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “I need a few more minutes.”

Poe laughs breathily and kisses the center of Finn’s chest before heaving his naked body out of bed. He seems very cheerful.

Finn gets dressed. The first shirt he finds is Poe’s, and he pulls it on, but it feels wrong. He changes into one of his own shirts and heads for Rey’s quarters.

“What’s going on?” Rey says suspiciously after the doors slide open, squinting at him.

There’s a hot lump in Finn’s throat. He swallows.

“Finn,” Rey says in a completely different tone of voice—soft and concerned. “What’s the matter?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He feels calmer, though only marginally less upset, when he leaves Rey’s quarters. He repeats her words in his head on his way to the mess hall for breakfast. _Breathe. It’ll be fine. Just try to figure out what you want to say to him_.

Rey had also advised Finn to keep his distance from Poe while he gathered his thoughts, so of course what happens when he rounds a corner is that he comes face to face with Poe.

“Where’d—what’s wrong?” Poe asks immediately, and.

“What’s _wrong?_ Look at this,” Finn says, yanking Poe’s wrists toward him. “Look at this, Poe. I did this to you.” Poe doesn’t respond, just stares at him, clearly taken aback, and Finn says, louder, “Look at what I did to you, Poe.”

Poe looks down at their hands, bewildered. “Yeah,” he says. “I—yes? Finn, we talked about this, I thought you—I thought this was what you—”

“No, it’s what _you_ want,” Finn says loudly. He’s almost yelling. Maybe he is yelling. Maybe he shouldn’t be yelling. They’re in a hallway. People could hear. “Of course this isn’t what I want, Poe! Fuck.”

He lets go of Poe, suppressing the urge to hide his face in his hands. He wishes he had a visor to hide behind, a layer of protection in-between him and the wounded look in Poe’s eyes. Poe is still staring at him, completely dumbfounded. He couldn’t have looked more heartbroken if Finn had told him _I’m breaking up with you_ or _I’m leaving the Resistance_.

Finn gives in and hides his face in his hands, just for a moment. When he lowers his hands, Poe is clenching his jaw. The corner of his mouth is twitching.

For a long moment, Finn deeply hates himself.

The moment stretches on.

Finally, Poe looks away. “Let’s talk about this in private,” he says after blinking a few times. His voice is blank.

Finn nods. His hands are shaking—his entire body is shaking—as he follows Poe back to their room. He goes in first, automatically crossing over to the bed and sitting down on it. Poe touches the panel to close the doors, pressing his forehead against the wall. He doesn’t turn around.

“How long?” he says, or at least that’s what Finn thinks he says.

Finn says, “What?”

Poe turns around and presses his back to the wall instead. “How long have we been having sex that you hate just because you think it’s what I want?”

“What—Poe,” Finn says, “that’s not—”

“Sure as hell sounded like it just now.”

Poe lashes out when he is upset. He’s standing there, arms folded across his chest, coiled tight, ready to strike.

“Poe,” Finn says again, as calmly and soothingly as possible. “That’s not what I meant. I was—look, could you please come over here?”

He’s relieved when, after a beat, Poe pushes away from the door and comes over to the bed. He sits down. Finn leans into him, and Poe doesn’t lean away.

“I don’t hate it,” Finn says against Poe’s temple, threading his fingers into Poe’s hair to keep him close. “I hate that I’m the one who left those bruises on you.”

Poe takes a sharp breath, says, “You know I don’t—”

“I know,” Finn says.

“And you—”

“Stop,” Finn says, and Poe stops.

“Kiss me,” Finn says, and Poe does.

The kiss is soft and sweet. When Poe draws back from it, his jaw is no longer clenched. Finn reaches for one of Poe’s hands and lifts it to his mouth, carefully presses his lips to the inside of Poe’s wrist.

Poe is watching him.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” Finn says, meaning the bruising, and Poe nods, says, without hesitation, “Okay.”

“But everything else,” Finn says. “I wouldn’t have—of course I didn’t hate it, Poe. Fuck.”

Poe looks unconvinced. “Did you like it, though?” His voice goes slightly brittle when he asks, “Or did you only do it for me?”

Finn thinks about it; the soft, fond look on Poe’s face, his brilliant smile. Thinks about Poe melting under his touch, Poe going quiet and pliant after sex. About being the weight that Poe needs to keep him in place, being the one who crowds out the thoughts of everything else.

“I do like it,” Finn says. “I didn’t—I wasn’t sure I would, but I do.” To a certain extent, that is. He strokes Poe’s bruised skin with the pad of his thumb.

Poe still looks unconvinced.

“All right,” Finn says, “listen. If it’ll make you feel better, we can agree to only do what I want tonight.” Poe opens his mouth to speak. Finn rolls his eyes and adds, “I solemnly swear that I won’t take any of your preferences into account.”

A hint of a smile. “Okay,” Poe says. “Deal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

That evening, Poe’s shoulders are a hard line of tension under Finn’s palms as they kiss. Finn is trying to decide on the best way to get Poe to relax when it dawns on him that Poe has agreed to do whatever the hell Finn wants tonight. Finn could make this entire evening about getting Poe to relax if he wanted to, and Poe would have absolutely no say in the matter.

“Hey, could you lie down on your stomach?” Finn asks. “I’ll be right back.”

Poe is lying naked in the middle of the bed when Finn returns. He’s got his arms are on either side of his head, fingers curled loosely into the pillow. The bruises, Finn realizes, are less noticeable on the backs of Poe’s wrists. If you didn’t know they were there you’d barely be able to see them in this light, from this angle.

Finn takes a moment—a long moment—to admire Poe’s muscled back and his ass before straddling him.

Poe’s shoulder blades draw together as the massage oil drips down between them.

“Finn,” Poe says, and Finn sternly tells him, “Whatever I want, remember?”

Poe laughs. “Okay, buddy,” he says.

Finn massages Poe’s back until he can no longer find a single locked-up muscle. The feeling of Poe’s strong body and smooth warm skin under his hands, between his thighs, has him more than half hard. When he leans down to kiss the nape of Poe’s neck, he can tell from Poe’s breathing and the flush in his cheeks that Poe is turned on as well.

Finn moves off of Poe, tugging at him until they’re lying face to face and then kissing him. Poe’s hand touches down on his jaw, lightly. Finn opens up for Poe’s tongue, and they spend some time kissing lazily, hands drifting down each other’s bodies.

Poe’s eyes are dark with lust by the time Finn draws back from him and rolls over to get the lube from the nightstand.

“I want you to fuck me,” Finn says.

“Of course,” Poe says, leaning in to kiss Finn again first.

Poe always takes his time to work Finn open, and tonight is no exception. Finn rests his forehead on his wrists and gives himself over to the sensations—Poe’s fingers slowly stretching him, Poe’s knees keeping his legs apart, Poe’s other hand a warm and grounding weight on his lower back.

“How—” Poe eventually says in a low voice, moving away from between Finn’s thighs.

Finn shifts onto his side. “Like this,” he says. “Okay?”

Poe nods.

It’s not the most practical position; Finn has to pull one knee up high to give Poe easier access, and Poe can only thrust shallowly. Which, of course, is exactly the reason why Finn suggested this position in the first place.

Poe rocks into Finn with deep, unhurried rolls of his hips. At some point he worms his arm between Finn’s side and the mattress and folds both of his arms across Finn’s chest, pulling Finn closer. He starts picking up the pace as he gets into it, and Finn says, “Easy, easy.”

Poe slows down. His hair tickles against the back of Finn’s neck when he presses his face against Finn’s shoulder to stifle a moan. His hand curls around Finn’s dick—not stroking, just cupping it. His callused palm grazes tantalizingly against the sensitive head. The feeling sends sparks of heat up Finn’s spine.

“Poe,” he breathes, craning his neck for a kiss.

Every time Poe speeds up Finn tells him to slow down, and Poe does so every single time. His arms have started trembling with effort where they’re still wrapped around Finn’s chest.

Finn doesn’t know how long they last, but toward the end they’re both soaked in sweat and breathing hard. His muscles are starting to feel sore. He comes first, and Poe follows not long after, with a groan that’s equal parts pleasure and relief.

“That was nice,” Finn says once he’s caught his breath. “We could do something like that every once in a while. To balance out the other stuff.”

“Whatever you want, buddy,” Poe says, chest still heaving. “Anything you want.”

Finn laughs and leans in to kiss him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> HEY HI. If you enjoyed reading this, please consider making my day/year/life by leaving a ❤ or a gif or a comment, and please come yell about Stormpilot with me [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com). We can discuss Oscar Isaac's offensive face, you can throw prompts at me to see if they stick, it'll be grand.


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